Harbinger
by blackfridayrule
Summary: Hermione finds herself on the wrong end of a charm that sets the stage for events 19 years in the past. Loyalties shift, friendships are questioned, and the players learn the world is made of shades of gray.  VERY AU!/Time Turner Twist.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Harbinger (n): One that pioneers in or initiates a major change, a precursors; one that presages or foreshadows what is to come.

Hermione finds herself on the wrong end of a curse in the Department of Mysteries that sets the stage for events 17 years in the past. Loyalties shift, friendships are questions, and the players learn to look beyond the surface of things. Because, after all, this is war. Nothing is ever as it seems. First fic.

**Spoilers: **The entire series. AU from the battle in the Department of Mysteries on. See note at the end of this chapter for more details.

**Rating:** T for now, may change later.

**Anti-Legal Action Charm: **I do not own anything from the Harry Potter books, movies, or any other related products/services. I am merely borrowing the characters for recreational purposes and will return to J.K. Rowling as soon as possible. The only character that is mine through the duration of this story is Kalare who is a cameo for my friend and tormenter K (Kidding, K. Just kidding.) There may be more if I need filler characters (which I probably will).

The chapter titles will (mostly) be borrowed from Beatles' song titles. If they're not, I'll make a note of it.

**Reviews **are welcomed,flames are not; constructive criticism only please.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Golden Slumbers <strong>

"_Enervate_!" Hermione felt her chest tighten and surge upward, some unseen power forcing the air out of her lungs to a point where she couldn't draw a decent breath. The pressure in her chest vanished as soon as it had started and she struggled to get into an upright position. A hand curled itself around her arm and helped her. "You alright?" A feminine voice asked.

"Peachy," Hermione deadpanned, her voice hoarse and grating to her own ears. She sounded like the old woman in the corner house in her parents' neighborhood, the one who had smoked for her entire life and didn't plan on stopping anytime soon.

"_I'm old and dying anyway,"_ she always said. _"Don't see why I should give up the only enjoyment I have just to prolong my life another few months."_ Mrs. Kennsey, Hermione remembered. That's what her name was. And she'd been saying that same line for the last 5 years.

Slowly, her eyes started to open on their own, but she slammed them shut again soon as the bright light hit them and shot its way through the back of her head. She gave a little cry and clutched the back of her skull, feeling a dampness there underneath the tangled curls. She pulled one of her hands away and looked down.

"Oh," the voice inhaled sharply. "Oh, that's not good. Blood is never a good sign. Come on, we'd better get you to the infirmary." Another hand grabbed her other arm and forced her into a standing position. "Can you walk, or should I levitate you?" The worried voice asked. Hermione's eyes began to adjust themselves to her surroundings. The edges were blurry, and the bright light was still there in her periphery, but she could make out familiar sets of stairs and the outlines of snoring portraits along the wall.

"I'm back?" She asked. "How—" She looked around again, making sure her vision wasn't playing tricks on her.

"Back?" The voice asked. Hermione turned her head a little and got a good look at the body that belonged to the voice. A petite Slytherin girl was standing next to her,; she had stick straight, luminescent blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun and secured with two black feather quills and a pair of curious grey eyes. Her wand was the source of the bright light—a _lumos_ that stretched all the way down the hall. Hermione studied her for a minute, trying to place her face. She couldn't have been older than Hermione, and she didn't look younger either, which meant that she was in either Hermione's year or the year below that. But she didn't look terribly familiar, just a part of her did. Hermione couldn't figure out what it was, but there was something strangely familiar about the slope of her nose, the way her hair looked almost white, the grey eyes.

It was all familiar, but she couldn't place the face or the features with a name, no matter how hard she tried. If she didn't know any better, she'd think she was having one of those Senior Moments Mrs. Kennsey always talked about—where you know something but you don't know you know it. She wracked her brains trying to place the girl's face.

And suddenly, everything was just too much. The pain in her head, the sharpness in her back, the way her brain seemed to be running nonstop without making any sense of anything. It was too much. She needed peace. Peace to put everything together and remember what had happened at the Department of Mysteries and how she had gotten back to Hogwarts. Hermione's eyes slid shut in search of the peace.

"OK, time to get you to Madame Pomfrey." The blonde decided. She slipped an arm around Hermione's waist and began directing her down the familiar path to the infirmary. "You'd better walk, otherwise you'll fall asleep and you can't fall asleep if you have a concussion. I don't know why, all I know is you're not supposed to. Hermione's head was pounding, and it didn't mean thinking about the strange turn of events any easier. "What's your name?" The girl asked. "Come on," she shook her slightly. "Unless you've got the right potion, you can't fall asleep if you have a concussion. Sometimes they can't even wake you up after that." She shook her again. "Come on!"

The girl was talking again, but the words were jumbled, foreign sounds to Hermione's ears, which felt as though they'd been stuffed with the gauze pads her parents used in the office. She felt her eyes slipping shut again, and her legs started to shake, turning to jelly where she stood. She thought the girl was shouting at her now, but she couldn't be sure. Everything felt so—wrong. Hermione's legs gave out and her knees hit the floor, followed by the rest of her torso and then her head. Her vision swam for a moment before everything went blissfully dark and she found the peace she had been craving since the whole mess began.

Unfortunately, that peace didn't seem to last long. There were voices seeping through the wonderful nothingness, forcing her back into consciousness. Her head was still sore, but the horrible prickling in her back was gone. She tried to focus on the voices, but all she could hear were bits and pieces of a conversation that made no sense.

"—_fell through the ceiling—passed out—don't know." _

"—_recognize—a student?" _

"_We—wards around the castle—side." _

"—_think—awake—miss?" _

A hand slipped under her head and pushed her upwards. Something cool was pressed against her lips and titled back, sloshing some sort of liquid against them. They parted on their own accord and a bitter liquid splashed over her tongue and down her throat, making her choke. She struggled to sit upright, trying to get the nasty taste out of her mouth before whatever she'd swallowed came back up.

"Easy," a kindly voice said. "Here," a goblet was pressed into her hands. "_Augmenti_." Hermione brought the goblet up to her mouth and drank the water down. It helped, but not much. She slowly opened her eyes, hoping to avoid another blinding incident, and was met with the soft glow of the torches in the infirmary instead. She let out a sigh of relief and opened them fully. It was blurry at first, but then Madame Pomfrey slowly swam into sight, a concerned look on her face.

"Madame Pomfrey," she croaked. She grimaced at the sound of her voice and took another sip of water, missing the matron's surprised look. Hermione tried to look around to see who else was in the infirmary, but her vision was obstructed by the heavy white partitions the mediwitch used for student privacy during examinations. "Where's everyone else?" She asked, panicking. "Are they ok?"

"Everyone else?" The matron parroted, looking dumbfounded.

"Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna—are they ok?" Hermione asked, more insistent this time. "I—I mean, they have to be, don't they? No one—" she couldn't finish that train of thought, not wanting to even entertain the possibility that no one else had made it out. The partitions were starting to make her feel claustrophobic Madame Pomfrey looked over at whoever was on the other side of her bed, a hopeless expression on her face.

"I'm afraid no one else was found with you, Miss," a familiar voice interjected. Hermione looked over in the direction of the voice. Professor Dumbledore was standing beside the cot, clad in a ghastly purple robe with shining silver stars and moons splattered across the material. He was studying the palm of his hand as though it held all the secrets of the Universe. Beside him was Mad-Eye Moody, wand drawn at the ready. It was a common sight (she had spent the summer in Grimmauld place, after all) but what shocked her was the fact that he was no longer 'Mad-Eye.' The magical eye was gone, his 'natural' eye in its place. His face wasn't scared as badly, the walking stick was missing, and he had both of his legs. His hair was also a much brighter red than she remembered it ever being. He looked younger. "Lower your wand, Alastor," Dumbledore said mildly. Hermione noticed his beard was shorter and had a few streaks of silver-grey running through it.

"You don't know who she is, Albus," Moody protested, never taking his eyes off her. "This slip of a girl manages to get into the castle without anyone noticing, you don't know why she's here. Can't trust anyone these days, you know that."

"Constant vigilance," Hermione mumbled. The Auror's eyes brightened at that.

"Exactly!" He cried. "Constant vigilance! That's a good philosophy, I might use that," he said distractedly. Hermione's chest tightened. She realized what felt so wrong. She'd experienced it once before, on a much smaller scale, but the feeling was still the same. It was the same feeling she got when she tried to be in 6 different places at once, when the maximum was supposed to be 3, just amplified so it was a thousand times worse. "Constant vigilance," he said again, still half-smiling. It was an odd expression, to Hermione at least, who had only ever seen him scowl, rage, or have a completely blank expression. The amusement was short lived, however, and Auror Moody returned with a vengeance. "Poppy, get some veritaserum," he ordered.

"There's no need Alastor," Dumbledore interjected. Moody stared at him with thinly veiled impatience, waiting for an answer. "Interesting things, Time Turners," he murmured, still staring at his hand. The Auror and mediwitched exchanged a look, wondering what the Headmaster's most recent non-sequitor had to do with the young girl.

"I thought the Ministry was still in the process of developing those wretched things," Pomfrey huffed.

"You don't approve, Poppy?" He asked, finally looking up at them.

"People shouldn't be given the power to traverse through time!" She huffed. "The complications of such a venture could be catastrophic! What would happen if an untrained person—or worse, a student—were to get their hands on such an object and slip too far into the past?" Dumbledore glanced over at Hermione, eyes twinkling in that infuriating, all-knowing way of his.

"I have a feeling we're about to find out." They were all staring at her now. She shifted uncomfortably, looking down at her hands.

"A Time Turner?" Moody demanded. "Impossible! Those are—and would be—heavily regulated by the Ministry!"

"She's 16! She couldn't have gotten her hands on a Time Turner!" Pomfrey exclaimed. Hermione looked up at Dumbledore.

"What year is it?" She asked quietly, resigned to the fact that the wizard had pieced together the fact that she was from the future. There would be no use trying to lie about it, especially not since she would undoubtedly need his help to get back to her rightful time.

"1977." Hermione's eyes widened. "I trust you didn't expect to go back so far?"

"I didn't expect to go back at all!" She cried. "I don't have a Time Turner anymore! I gave it back at the end of my Third Year!"

"Then how'd you get here?" Moody growled.

"I don't know! One minute I'm somewhere in the Department of Mysteries and the next—" she clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Department of Mysteries?" The Auror hissed, advancing on her. Oddly enough, she didn't find him as menacing without the magical eye. "Poppy, get the veritaserum."

"Alastor—"

"No, Albus, I'm putting my foot down. This is now an official investigation!" Pomfrey disappeared around the curtain, presumably to her office to fetch the truth serum.

"While she is in this castle, she is under my protection," Dumbledore said, the twinkle gone from his eyes. Hermione had only seen that look once before, when Umbridge had tried to kick Trewlawney out of the castle.

"She just admitted she was in the Department of Mysteries before finding her way into one of the most heavily warded buildings in the Wizarding World. She's in a student uniform, though no one knows who she is, and she recognized Poppy, who clearly didn't know her. I want answers!"

"Then perhaps you should try asking a question first," Dumbledore suggested mildly. "For example, you might start with asking her name." Pomfrey returned with the vial in hand, looking extremely apprehensive. "Well?" Dumbledore prompted, looking at Hermione expectantly.

"Hermione Granger, sir," she said quietly.

"And what year are you from, Miss Granger?"

"1996, sir."

"Do you know how you got here?" He asked. She shook her head.

"We can check that with a little veritaserum," Moody said, glaring at her.

"I don't!" She insisted. "I—I was hit with a spell, but it was just an expelliaramus! Nothing that would have sent me 19 years into the past!" Moody opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off by the Headmaster, who held up his hand.

"Do you see this, Alastor?" He asked. The palm of his hand was covered in a thin sheen of a golden dust that almost looked like sand. Hermione gasped, recognizing the dust from the tiny hourglass in her Third Year. "This is the sand the Department of Mysteries is experimenting with in the Time Turners."

"How do you know that?" Moody asked, looking skeptical. The older wizard chuckled.

"Nicholas and I spent some time helping develop it," he said. "It's housed in the Department of Mysteries—"

"In an hour glass," Hermione finished quietly. That had been what she had crashed into in the strange room. Dumbledore nodded.

"I suspect that that is what the spell knocked you into," he said.

"The glass exists now though?" She asked hopefully.

"Yes," he nodded again. "However, the Time Turners are still unstable magical objects. And there has yet to be a design that will transport someone to the future." Hermione swallowed thickly, feeling the familiar prick of tears stinging behind her eyes. "I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that until further research is conducted and such an object is created, we have no way of returning you to your proper time." Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes now.

She was stranded in 1977. Without her friends. With no way of knowing if everyone was alright. She was stuck in the time of Harry's parents. When the Marauders ruled the halls with their pranks and the Death Eaters were just starting to heavily recruit followers for Voldemort.

And she couldn't do anything about it without completely destroying the timeline that had already been created. She couldn't save anyone without damning the entire world with a Paradox. She felt the tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Out!" Pomfrey demanded. "The both of you, out! Miss Granger needs her rest now, and the two of you aren't doing anything to help!" Hermione fought the urge to laugh at the mediwitch's outburst. Even in the past, the woman's fearsome expressions and the intensity with which she looked after her patients was exactly the same.

In a way, it was comforting. Maybe there were a handful of other things that were still the same.

Pomfrey ushered the Auror and the Headmaster out of the infirmary before returning with a Calming Draught, which she practically forced Hermione to drink at wand point. It tasted better than the ones in Hermione's time—which confirmed her theory that Professor Snape made them taste nasty on purpose.

Drowsy, her head still swimming from her fall, Hermione settled back against the pillows and let herself drift off, silently praying that when she awoke the next morning, her memories from tonight would just be one horrible nightmare.

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><p><strong>For those of you who stuck around to see how this new story's going to work out, thanks! For those of you who're new, welcome; hopefully you stick around. <strong>

**Originally, I started this story as part of a bet (which I lost) so there are certain criteria I have to meet. If anyone's interested in knowing what I **_**have**_** to include in this story, check my profile. All the details are there. **

**Thanks for reading! **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **"Hermione Granger" and "Severus Snape" were trending topics on Twitter today, so I decided to take a break from Finals essays and post the second chapter. Thank you to everyone who added this to their Story Alerts list! And to WishIHadAnAngel and heartmom88 for reviewing the first chapter

I'm not really sure about this chapter. I tried to keep everyone in character as much as possible, and I hoped it worked. If I got anything wrong, please let me know! I also noticed some grammar/continuity errors in the first chapter, so that'll be fixed and reposted at the end of the week.

All the disclaimers from Chapter 1 still apply.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: I'm Only Sleeping<strong>

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…" _

_The horrible words played on repeat in her mind, twirling around her subconscious like leaves on the wind, flittering around in her brain; twisted together with images of clear glass orbs shattering around them, black ghostly wisps, white masks, dark robes, screamed curses and hexes, an hourglass, someone was reaching for her, a hand wrapped around her arm—_

Hermione felt herself being pulled up off the hospital cot with a force that she swore was going to rip her shoulder out of its socket. She reached for her wand, but couldn't find it. Instead of her school uniform, she was wearing one of the robes from the infirmary that her tiny frame always seemed to swim in, despite the One-Size-Fits-All label. In a blind moment of panic, she opened her mouth and screamed, hoping the mediwitch could hear her. Four drops of a bitter liquid hit her tongue and she was roughly thrown back onto the cot. Moody's snarling visage came into sigh, illuminated by a faint _lumos_. He was holding her wand in his other hand.

"Now then, _Miss Granger_," he sneered. "You're going to answer some questions."

"Madame Pomfrey will be here. She would have heard me scream! She'll be here any minute!" Moody rolled his eyes.

"You don't think I wouldn't have cast a silencing charm beforehand, girl?" He demanded. "What was it you said? Constant vigilance?" He twirled her wand between his fingers. For the first time that night, she wanted to hex herself for ever introducing him to that phrase—even if he had taught it to her in the future. If she'd only kept her mouth shut, the most annoying phrase in Grimmauld Place uttered by something other than a screaming, racist portrait would never have existed. She really wanted to hex herself. "Now, what's your full name?"

"Hermione Jean Granger," she answered without hesitation. She internally groaned, hoping that nothing he asked would be too damaging.

"Birthdate?"

"September 15th, 1979."

"So you _are_ from the future then?"

"Yes," she rolled her eyes.

"What year are you from?"

"1996."

"What were you and your conspirators doing in the Department of Mysteries?" Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling her response. Moody growled and grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away. "I will put you in a body bind if I have to," he warned. "Answer the question." Hermione could feel the words bubbling up again, but knew that if the Auror heard them, she could wind up destroying not only her timeline but several others as well, which could erase the future as she knew it. As horrible as the threat of a resurrected, sociopathic Dark Wizard was, she didn't want to take a chance that whatever Powers controlled Time would be forgiving about her meddling; even if it was unintentional.

Her throat started to burn and her chest clinched tightly. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, the pain a hundred times worse than when that Death Eater had hexed her in the Department. Hot tears pricked at the back of her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks. The pain intensified and she bit down hard on her lower lip in a vain attempt to stay quiet.

"You'll kill yourself if you try to fight it," Moody growled. "No one can fight off the effects of Veritaserum, stupid girl." The coppery taste of blood washed over the tip of her tongue, she felt sick. "What were you and your conspirators doing in the Department of Mysteries?" He demanded again, practically shouting at her. The pain finally became too much and her mouth opened on its own accord.

"We thought Sirius had been captured by Voldemort so we went to save him, only it was a trap for Harry to give them the prophecy—" she sucked in a huge breath, the air burning her lungs. "They attacked us, and we fought back," she cried. Moody's eyes widened and he stared at her in absolute disbelief.

"You're a _child_," he said finally. "Children have no business fighting Death Eaters! What made you think you could?"

"We'd been practicing defensive spells in the DA." There was no point in fighting the Veritaserum, she was in too much pain already. She only hoped she could keep her answers vague enough if the questioning continued. "Please don't ask me anything else," she quietly pleaded. "It could change the timelines, which would cause a Paradox and that could result in Time Loops, Black Holes, and just about anything else within the realm of Time that has the potential to destroy the entire planet. Cardinal rule of time travel is _don't change the timelines_."

"So you didn't come back to change the past?"

"No. I couldn't, no matter how much I want to," she mumbled. "It's too dangerous." The expression on his face nearly killed her. For someone who chased after Dark Wizards for almost 3 decades, whose claim to fame was bagging some of the darkest ones in current history, he looked absolutely wretched.

Then again, he did retire shortly after the First War, which Molly swore fried the last of his non-paranoid nerves. He sighed heavily, still scrutinizing her. It was the same look he wore in the future, when staring at someone. The only difference now was the magical eye wasn't spinning around in its socket, trying to see through her. He tucked his wand into his back pants' pocket and moved to sit in the chair the Headmaster had occupied earlier.

"Don't!" She cried. He looked at her oddly. "Erm, there was this wizard who ah, did that and his wand ended up firing and he—erm, lost half his—buttocks." Moody's eyes widened comically and he quickly moved his wand from his pants' pocket to his jacket pocket. Hermione mentally kicked herself again, remembering that Harry had told her that Mad-Eye had told him that story, and he and Tonks were both fairly certain in was Moody who'd hexed his own butt off. She hoped she hadn't changed anything too drastically. If it did, she'd have to seriously question the Powers' priorities.

"You're a Hogwarts student in your time?" He asked, setting her wand on the bedside table. It was still too far for her to reach, but she took it as a good sign that he was no longer on the verge of hexing her.

"Yes."

"What year?"

"Fifth. What's the date today?" She asked. He looked at her oddly.

"October 12th. Why?"

"Just curious," she shrugged. "It was April when I—left."

"Some of those cuts were from hexes, weren't they?" Her brow furrowed, trying to figure out what cuts he was talking about. "The cuts from the glass. Poppy said one of 'em was Dark magic. Had a hard time healing it. Never seen anything like it, apparently."

"Death Eaters are nothing if not inventive," she said dryly, turning her head forwards. All that she could see was the white partition in front of her, but at least the crink in her neck was gone. She felt rather than saw him staring at her again. It was unsettling, to say the least.

"What—" he never got to finish his question. The partition behind him was thrown back, revealing a seething Dumbledore. McGonagall stood off to the side behind him, clad in what looked like a variation of the tartan dressing gown Hermione had seen the night Snuffles had broken into Gryffindor tower. Madame Pomfrey stood next to her, a look of pure fury etched across her features. Dumbledore hauled Moody up by the collar of his robes.

"How many drops did you give her?" He demanded, shaking the Auror.

"Albus—"

"I know you, Alastor. How many drops did you give her?"

"Four," he relented.

"You're not supposed to administer more than three in a two hour period!" Pomfrey exclaimed angrily.

"I wanted to make sure it worked." Dumbledore let go of his robes and pushed him towards the door.

"Minerva, please escort Alastor to my office," he said, voice deceptively calm. McGonagall ushered Moody out of the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey bustled over and started casting diagnostic charms, muttering angrily to herself. "Well?"

"It doesn't appear to have done any damage," she said. "But it will stay in her system for four more hours, I'm afraid. That was a highly concentrated dose he gave her." She shook her head angrily. "How do you feel, child?"

"Tired, confused, scared out of my mind, and I wouldn't mind hexing Moody's—" She clamped a hand over her mouth, looking at them hopelessly. Dumbledore reached out and gave her hand a reassuring pat.

"It's alright, Miss Granger. I think we can excuse anything you say for the next four hours," he chuckled. "Although, I should think you would want to try and catch a few more hours of sleep."

"I'll get a Dreamless Sleep," Pomfrey said. "That will help. Only tonight though. It's highly addictive." She ducked back behind the curtain before Hermione could protest.

"Auror Moody will leave you be after tonight, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "I want to assure you that while you are within these walls, you have the protection of myself, the staff, and the castle. As I'm sure you already know," he said, the twinkle returning to his eyes. She offered a tight smile in return. "Tell me, Miss Granger, what year are you?"

"Fifth Year," she answered. He stared at her for a moment with that all-knowing look. She wondered if he was a Legillimens. She looked away, not wanting him to see anything that could compromise the timelines. He chuckled again, startling her. Pomfrey returned with the Dreamless Sleep and stood there while Hermione drank it. She handed the vial back, grimacing slightly at the potion's odd, metallic taste.

"Let the girl rest, Albus," she ordered, shooting him a chiding look. The Headmaster nodded.

"Of course, Poppy. Good night, Miss Granger. We'll discuss things in more detail tomorrow."

"Ok, sir. Good night." He turned and stepped over the fallen partition, which he propped back up before leaving the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey ran another quick series of tests. Satisfied that the groggy witch was in no danger, she slipped through the partition and left Hermione to sleep.

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><p>"Of all the asinine things you've done, Alastor, this is by far the worst!" McGonagall seethed. Moody quietly followed behind, ignoring her tirade and thinking the interrogation over. He'd cast revealing charms and spells before hand—no polyjuice, no glamors, just a teenage girl. A teenage girl who'd painfully kept her mouth shut under the influence of Veritaserum, fought Death Eaters to save someone who he could only assume either was Sirius Black or related to the man somehow, and suffered under Dark curses Poppy couldn't even identify.<p>

She wasn't a teenager. If the rising tensions with Lord Voldemort and his Death Eater followers did in fact turn into a war 19 years in the future, she'd probably never even been a child.

"Are you listening to me?" The angry Scotswoman demanded. She turned to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office. "Ginger Newts," she spat. The gargoyle moved aside, allowing them to access the stairwell. "Four drops of Veritaserum on a little girl?"

"She's hardly a little girl, Minerva," he snorted. "She's a 5th year. 15 or 16 at least." He followed her into the office and dropped into one of the chairs across from the Headmaster's desk, taking care to ensure his wand was no where near his pants' pockets.

"She's a child who has been through a horrible ordeal! You had no right to harass her, Alastor! No right!" McGonagall ranted, pacing the length of the office and back.

"I was acting within my rights as an Auror!" He snapped back. "She could have been polyjuiced for all we knew! Or glamored! She mysteriously appears in a castle that is supposed to be impenetrable after being in a department in the Ministry that isn't supposed to exist. 15-year-old or no, it is my responsibility to question her and assess the potential threat! That is, after all, why I was summoned!"

"In an unofficial capacity," Dumbledore's voice interjected. The older wizard swept into the room, startling the other occupants. "Four drops of Veritaserum, Alastor? After I specifically asked you to leave the girl alone you enter the infirmary, put silencing charms around the bed, force Veritaserum down her throat and proceed to interrogate her?"

"You honestly expected me to just leave it like that?" Moody demanded. "I'm not the head of my department for nothing, Albus!"

"There's a fine line between being vigilant and being paranoid, Alastor. Treating Miss Granger in such a manner is paranoia!" Dumbledore took a seat behind his desk and summoned a tea set. McGonagall took the empty seat next to Moody, still shooting daggers in the man's direction. "Was your paranoia warranted?" He asked, wandlessly sending a cup of tea to his deputy.

"Pardon?"

"Is she a threat?"

"No," Moody said after a moment. "She's not a threat. A bit touched, trying to stay quiet under Veritaserum, but not a threat."

"She tried to fight it?" McGonagall spluttered. "No one can fight Veritaserum!"

"Which she learned the hard way," Moody snorted.

"What are we going to do with her now, Albus?" McGonagall asked, turning her attention to the other wizard. "If she really has somehow managed to travel through time—"

"She did," Moody said.

"Well then what can we do? There's no family we can contact."

"Miss Granger is a Fifth Year in her time," Dumbledore said. "She will be Sorted and attend classes like any other student."

"How do you plan on explaining her sudden appearance?" Moody demanded. "I assume since you want to keep this quiet from the Ministry, you'll have to create a background of some kind. One that they won't question."

"Surely the Ministry would help her," McGonagall interjected. "She is, after all, stranded here because of something they created."

"They would cart her off for abuse of magic, Minerva," the Auror rolled his eyes. "Use your head."

"Yes, of course, Alastor. Do forgive my oversight; it is, after all, 2 in the bloody morning!" She all but shouted at him. "You couldn't have been an arse about this earlier tonight?"

"Merlin, I'd forgotten what a terror you are when you first wake up," he groaned. "Spare us the dramatics, please."

"The two of you stop before I start treating you like the pair of First Years you insist on behaving like," Dumbledore warned, though he sounded more amused than anything. "You are correct, Alastor, I plan on keeping this from the Ministry for as long as I can."

"She's going to need an unquestionable background in that case."

"I would offer, but if I'm—working this summer," she shot a pointed look in Dumbledore's direction. "Then it would be unfeasible, not to mention unsafe, for the child. Surely we could find a family to take her in," McGonagall said. "What about Molly and Arthur? Or someone else with some sort of—pull in the Ministry? That would make her fabricated background easier."

"The Weasleys have three young children of their own and two more on the way," Dumbledore said. "Andromeda has her hands full with her daughter, the metamorphamagus, and I cannot possibly ask Charlus, not right now. It's too dangerous to consider anything else, even an orphanage. She's from a different Time, Minerva, it could cause several—rather unpleasant complications."

"Paradox, Time Loops, Black Holes—" Moody mumbled. The girl would need some kind of supervision when not in school, a guardian that could watch her back and ensure the Ministry kept their nose out of her business until she could return to her right time. _"If she can return_," he mentally amended, recalling Dumbledore's earlier review of Time Turners and their creation. It had taken 20 years to figure out how to send someone backwards in time a few hours, and even now it was highly unstable and unpredictable.

"I had no idea you were so well versed in Time Travel, Alastor," Dumbledore chuckled. Moody glared at him. "But yes, those are just a few examples of potential problems. And if the Ministry should find out she is a stranded Time Traveler," he trailed off, leaving the implied threat of Azkaban and a Dementor's Kiss hanging in the air.

"I'll take her," Moody said, breaking the tense silence.

"_You_?" McGonagall gaped, incredulity plastered across her face.

"Unless Albus comes up with a better idea," he snapped. "It wouldn't be too difficult to fabricate a niece. The girl's 15 or 16." Understanding dawned on the witch's face.

"Charlotte disappeared 18 years ago," she said quietly.

"It wouldn't be entirely impossible for her to have had a child during that time, if she were still alive," he said. "Since I'm head of the Auror Department, no one will question whether or not I checked the validity of her birth, and I know someone in Magical Births, Marriages, and Deaths that owes me a favor, so she'll have the proper documents."

"You scared the girl to death!" McGonagall protested. "I highly doubt she'll want to _look_ at you after tonight, let alone _live_ with you during the summer months! And your position in the Ministry is too dangerous!" Dumbledore hadn't said anything, but Moody could feel him staring with that calculating look.

He briefly wondered if the old man was a Legillimens and focused on pushing his interrogation of the girl into the back of his mind, just in case. Dumbledore chuckled.

"This is no laughing matter, Albus!"

"I think Miss Granger and Alastor will get on fine, Minerva," he said, earning a glare from the witch. "They're more alike than you'd think."

"You are, aren't you?" Moody demanded. The wizard's eyes twinkled tenfold. "That's it, I'm learning Occlumency before I set foot in this office again."

"I'm surprised you don't already know it," Dumbledore said. "I believe we can call it a night, again."

"Finally," McGonagall huffed.

"We'll discuss the details with Miss Granger in the morning and see if she is agreeable. You're welcome to use my floo, Alastor," he said. "Good night, Minerva."

"_Again_," she glared at Moody's retreating back.

"You do know you can't actually pierce me with your stare, right, Minerva?" He called over his shoulder. The witch huffed and marched off through the office door. Moody grabbed a handful of floo powder and slipped into the fireplace.

"One of these days she's going to hex you, old friend," Dumbledore said, shooting him a warning look over his half-moon frames. Moody grinned.

"I'm looking forward to it. Ministry of Magic!" He called, dropping the powder. The green flames swallowed him up and he was whisked to the Ministry Atrium, leaving Dumbledore in his office.

The Headmaster looked up at the sleeping portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. "You can stop your pretend snoring, Phineas," he said. "It's wearing on my nerves." The portrait cracked an eye open.

"I must say, this is shaping up to be an interesting year. I daresay this is the most fun I've had in this office since that selfish little descendent of mine tried to feed the Snape boy to the werewolf. You realize you'll get Kissed for this if the Ministry finds out, yes?"

"Another relation of yours has assured me that will not happen." Phineas' eyes nearly bugged out of his painted face.

"She saw something then?"

"They're coming more and more frequently, I'm afraid. She saw this months ago." The portrait watched the wizard closely for a few minutes. He was starting to look his age. "After this year, I might seriously consider retirement."

"No you won't," Phineas snorted. "You may care for that hotheaded Scotswoman dearly, but you know as well as I do she's nowhere near ready for this office. And the half-goblin is too disorganized. The school would be in shambles if you appointed either of them your successor. You'll simply have to wait until someone with even a jot of control is on staff before you consider retirement." Dumbledore sighed heavily and rose from his desk, heading for the portrait door to the Headmasters' quarters.

"Good night, Phineas."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello all! Firstly, I want to apologize for the delay. Secondly, I want to thank everyone who added this story to their alerts list! You're all fantastic **

**Chapter 3: Everybody's Got Something to Hide **

Over the years, Kalare had come to learn several things to be fact at Hogwarts.

_Fact #1: Tabitha McCormack and Annemarie Dawes would always gossip in the Slytherin common room before even trying to talk in their dormitory, where the walls were known to have both eyes and ears thanks to Seraphine du Mort. _

_Fact #2: Severus never really slept on the couch in the common room—he only pretended so he could eavesdrop on everyone. _

_Fact #2a: Slytherins were incredibly stupid to trust a Sleeping Snake when _

_discussing their personal lives. _

Kalare liked facts. They were routine. Predictable. Stable. And after the night she'd had, Kalare had never been happier to see the Seventh Years glaring at her in her life.

"Do you mind?" Tabitha sneered.

"Oh, no," Kalare waved them on and dropped onto the couch, right on top of Severus' legs. "Go ahead. Don't mind me. I'm just going to get a bit of light reading done before bed—my roommates don't like it when I leave the light on, you know?" She picked up Severus' discarded potions book and flipped through the pages, not really looking at the words.

"That's a year above you," Annemarie pointed out.

"Never can start preparing too early," Kalare shrugged. "Besides, the Fifth Year text is so _boring_."

"And it's upside down."

"Is it?" Kalare gasped, making a show of looking at the cover. "I didn't even notice!" The girls rolled their eyes simultaneously and rose from their chairs.

"Come on," Tabitha scowled. "Let's go finish this upstairs."

"Don't forget to disable all of Seraphine's listening charms," Kalare called after them. No sooner had they left than she found herself kicked off the couch by the "sleeping" teen beneath her. She flew off the couch, almost hitting the table in front of her. She looked up and scowled at the older boy. "You could have just asked me to move, you know."

"And missed the look of surprise on your face when you hit the floor?" He drawled. "Never." Severus sat upright in one fluid motion that Kalare found herself envious of. That was another thing she knew to be fact; she was the clumsiest Malfoy ever born.

"In case you missed it, I didn't hit the floor," she grunted, pushing herself into a sitting position in front of the couch. "Get anything good?" She asked.

"No," he frowned, face partially obscured by his long, lanky black hair. He snatched his potions text back from her and set it on the couch beside him. "Everyone in the castle knows Annemarie and Tabitha have fucked half of Ravenclaw Tower."

"Only half?" She snorted.

"Well, there are girls in Ravenclaw as well," he rolled his eyes. "What took you so long? Curfew ended a two hours ago." Kalare groaned and fell back against the couch cushions. "That bad?"

"Bloody awful," she sighed. "But it'll all work out in the end, I hope. I don't really know the ending yet. Hopefully it's a good one. I hate sad stories."

"You're so—weird."

"You're one to talk! You know half of our own house thinks you're a vampire, right?" He made a show of curling his lip up into a snarl, showing his canines, and gnashed his teeth at her. "And you say I'm weird," she scoffed. "No, I take that back, you're just plain old _strange_."

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment," he said, stretching back out on the couch.

"Don't you ever sleep in your dormitory?" She asked.

"On occasion," he said, eyes slipping shut. "I happen to prefer the common room."

"Stra-ange," Kalare said, drawing the word out. The two lapsed into a comfortable silence. "You know those dreams I sometimes get?" She asked.

"Don't tell me you're still going on about that Divination crap," he mumbled.

_Fact #3: If she wanted to talk to someone about her dreams, it was usually only Lucius who believed her. Or Phineas Nigellus. _

"It's not even a real form of magic," he continued. "I told you not to take Trewlawney's class. That woman is a certified nutjob who's got you all worked up over nothing."

"Yeah, you're probably right," she nodded.

"Did you have another?" He asked.

"No," she shook her head. _Another one came true_. "I'm going to bed now. Don't sleep on the couch, it's bad for your back," she added. "Night Sev." If he said anything, she didn't hear. But she doubted he did. He never did.

Kalare slowly made her way up the winding staircase that lead to the girl's dormitories and slipped into the Fifth Year's room. Everything was quiet, except for the soft snoring coming from Belladonna's bed. Roan the old tabby stretched lazily from her spot on Ramona's bed and leapt down, silently padding towards Kalare in hopes of nabbing a treat. Kalare greeted the old thing with a soft pat on the head before wandering over to her own bed. She knew in 10 minutes, Emma would roll over and start mumbling in her sleep like she did every night. It was usually pretty insignificant stuff about boys she liked or classes she was doing poorly in, with the odd, nonsensical utterance from her dreams mixed in.

Bella would eventually stop snoring, until the tabby decided she preferred her mattress to Ramona's. After all that had happened, Bella didn't want to bring up her allergies lest it cause problems. Roan meant everything to Ramona.

Ramona would sleepwalk from her bed to Prudence's old bed and try and wake the girl who was no longer there before giving up and returning to her own bed, Roan close at her heels.

And that was just in Kalare's room.

She settled back on the bed, not bothering to change out of her uniform, and tucked her arms behind her head. The castle hummed and crackled with a new layer of protective magic that was wearing on Kalare's nerves. She took a deep breath and slipped into the old stone walls, hoping to tune the rest of Hogwarts out long enough to catch a decent night's sleep.

_The garden had always been Kalare's favorite place in the entire castle. Hardly anyone knew of its existence, because they didn't know where to look, so it was always kept private and quiet. _

_Except on nights like tonight. Kalare let out a frustrated groan before begrudgingly walking over to the old stone table with the black and white checks. The chess pieces were already set up, and the old man was sitting there, contemplating the board. _

"_I thought you might be here tonight," he said by way of greeting. Kalare reluctantly dropped into the seat across from him. "Are you ready for the next set?" _

"_No," she groused. "I'm never ready, you know that." _

"_You're getting better." He reached out and moved one of the pawns across the board. Rather than using a Wizarding Chess set, they played with a Muggle one, without using magic to move the pieces. It had a greater calming effect than Wizarding Chess. Kalare moved one of her pawns and waited for him to make his move. "Have you seen anything else?" _

"_No. The last one I had was of Hermione and the hourglasses," she sighed. "I don't think I'll have one for a long time now. The last big one I had was of Sev and Lily Evans, and it was months before I had another after that." _

"_Not even a flash?" He asked. _

"_I can't tell you what Tom Riddle's next move is, if that's what you're wondering," she said, shooting him a nasty look. "Your pawns are on the board," she said, nodding to the pieces on the table. "I'm not one of them." _

"_I never said you were," he countered. _

"_Never explicitly, no, but that's what you're doing. You're looking at it all like one big chess game. Severus, my brother, Lily Evans, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Alastor Moody, Hermione Granger—" she ticked the names off as they flashed through her head, pointing to different pieces on the board as she went. "How could I have missed it? Ugh, we're all your pawns!" She cried. A surge of magic crushed the pieces to a fine powder, leaving neat little piles of dust in their place. "I'm done." She rose to her feet and stalked off back towards the castle. _

"_Kalare!" _

"_Save your breath, old man!" She snarled, turning on him. "The Malfoy's are not pawns! And neither is any other human being on this Earth! Lives will be lost if you don't see that now!" With that, she ran back into the castle, heading for the safety of Slytherin Tower. _

Kalare's eyes flew open and she bolted upright, her breathing labored as though she'd just run the length of the castle and back. Her skin and sheets were soaked with sweat. Roan leapt up onto the bed, meowing inquisitively before curling up in Kalare's lap. The witch ignored the cat, grabbed her wand and cast several cleansing charms before transfiguring her uniform into a pajama set.

Kalare had never felt very cunning; even though it was said to be the most dominant trait of a Snake, but tonight, she decided it was time for the rules of the game to change.

Kalare picked Roan up and carried her over to Prudence's old bed. The cat meowed in protest. "Well if you don't like it, go sleep with Ramona!" She quietly hissed. Roan turned her back on the witch and settled down on the comforter. Kalare rolled her eyes and crept out of the room on shaky legs. She practically stumbled down the stairs and across the common room to the staircase that lead to the boys' dormitory.

She silently opened the door to the 5th Year's dorms and snuck over to the bed at the farthest end of the room. Soundlessly, she drew the curtains back and slipped under the blanket, next to the sleeping boy in the bed. She settled down under the covers, resting her head on her arm. She felt a pair of feet press up against her own.

_Fact #4: She could always count on Regulus in times of crisis. _

"Another nightmare?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

"How bad?"

"Apocalyptic."

"Infirmary?"

"Not now. Tomorrow though, there's someone you need to meet."

"In the infirmary?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow."

"Alright." Kalare let her eyes slip shut. "Night, Kal."

"Night, Reg," she mumbled, allowing herself to drift off for the first time that night.

"_Kal_!" Kalare reached out, swatting whatever was making the annoying hissing sound in her ear. _"Kal!" _Something grabbed ahold of her shoulder and gave it a shake. Her eyes flew open and she flew upright, nearly hitting Regulus in the face. "Watch it!" He hissed. "Come on, you need to go back to your dorm before everyone starts waking up." Kalare blinked at him with sleep-heavy eyes.

"Wha?" She asked.

"It's 6 in the morning," he whispered. "Everyone's going to start waking up, and unless you want another propriety lecture from the Bloody Baron, I suggest you get back to your own dorm," he said, grabbing her by the elbow. He pulled her off the bed and out of the dorm. She stumbled after him, trying to keep up with his longer strides.

Since he was a good foot taller than her, it was proving a little difficult.

"Slow down," she grumbled. Regulus led her across the common room, past the couch where Severus was still awkwardly stretched out, to the stairs to the girls' dorms.

"Liar," Severus mumbled from the couch.

"Vampire," Kalare shot back. She gave a very confused Regulus a quick hug as a thank you and started up the stairs. "Oh, wait," she turned back around. "Don't forget we're going to the infirmary after breakfast," she said. "You too, Severus." The older boy sat up, looking at them over the top of the couch.

"What? Why?" He demanded.

"There's someone you have to meet."

"In the infirmary?"

"That's what I asked," Regulus said.

"Yes, in the infirmary. Just, trust me, alright?"

"Does this have anything to do with why you were an hour late last night?" Severus asked.

"What are you? My mother?" Kalare scoffed. "Just don't forget, alright?"

"Alright," Regulus relented. "We'll go meet your mystery person in the infirmary," he said, as though he were appeasing a small child. Kalare rolled her eyes and trudged up the stairs. Regulus turned and looked at Severus, who merely shrugged and stretched back out on the couch. "Are you going to the meeting tonight?" He asked.

"I wasn't invited," Severus said shortly. "Besides, it sounds like a load of crap if you ask me."

"Well, yeah, but a lot of people from our House will be there. It might be a good networking tool, you know?" He took a seat in one of the armchairs across from the couch.

"Have fun."

"I'm sure Abraxas could get you in," Regulus offered. "He was talking to my father about it over the summer holiday; said it's going to cause a real shakeup in the government. Imagine what would happen if all of us were in the Ministry after we graduate." Severus grimaced. "You could get some of those research grants you wanted for potions."

"I have to study under a Master first," Severus pointed out. "I don't like politics, Muggle or Magical they're all the same. Go to your meeting, shakeup the government, try not to get yourself killed in the process." Regulus chuckled, rising from the chair.

"I'll still talk to my father about talking to Abraxas for you, maybe Lucius could, too," he said. "We have to help our own after all. See you at breakfast, Severus." Severus waved him off and settled back down on the couch, wondering if it was safe to go back into the dormitory yet. His latest defensive strike against the Marauders had cost Slytherin 50 house points the other night, and he was still avoiding the backlash. He grimaced, rolling over onto his side. Kalare was right; the couch was bad for his back.

**The next chapter should be posted at either the end of this month or the beginning of next, depending on my schedule. Thanks for reading! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks again to everyone who reviewed! I appreciated the fact that those of you who pointed out continuity/story errors did so without totally raking me over the coals. If there's anyone out there who wants to beta this for me and check for those sorts of things, shoot me an email/PM. I think I'm going to need more help than I realized. Along those same lines, the grammar and formatting errors in the last chapter have been fixed. Sorry if that was confusing for anyone! **

**Chapter 4: I'm a Loser **

**6 Hours Earlier **

Tarrant Hooper was a relatively quiet man who led a relatively quiet life. Unfortunately for Tarrant, he had been a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts, which meant that his loyalty and sense of duty were unwavering; even when Alastor Moody flooed him at three in the morning, declaring he was collecting on a favor that had been offered some ten years ago.

Tarrant ran a hand through his thinning hair. "What is it you want, Moody?" He asked.

"_Not want,_" the Auror grunted. _"Need. Step back, I'm coming through_."

"Can't this wait until morning?"

"_It is morning_." His face started to push out of the fireplace and Tarrant jumped back to avoid being crashed into by the auror. Moody stepped out of the floo, shaking out his robes and sending soot in every direction. Tarrant rolled his eyes and cast a cleaning charm on the floor, furniture, and auror. "Sorry," he grunted. "Come on, I need to cash in on that favor." He headed for the kitchen, acting as though it was his house and Tarrant were the guest.

"This couldn't have waited until this morning?" Tarrant asked, following him. "You could have just come into my office—" Moody spun around, eyes blazing.

"No! No Ministry involvement, do you understand me, Hooper? No one can know about this!" Tarrant took a step back. "Understand?" Tarrant nodded. "Good. Tea?"

"Help yourself," Tarrant said, resigned to the fact that Moody was going to do whatever he wanted in his house. Moody filled the kettle and set it on the stove. "Are you going to tell me what this favor you need is or—"

"Wand," Moody ordered.

"My—wh—what do you need my wand for?" Tarrant demanded.

"I need you to take a Vow."

"You're serious." Moody didn't say anything. Tarrant stared at him for along time, weighing his options. Refusing Alastor Moody a favor, or questioning his need for a Vow, did not bode to well for him. "Fine," he relented. Moody drew his wand and pointed it at the man. Tarrant reluctantly drew his own wand and held it out.

"Do you, Tarrant Hooper, swear to keep the information about to be given to you within the walls of this room?"

"I swear."

"Do you swear not to discuss this meeting, or your future actions as a result of this meeting, with anyone other than myself?"

"I swear."

"Do you swear to carry out the task I am about to give you to the best of your abilities and attract as little attention as possible?"

"I swear."

"So mote it be." The magic swirled around them, binding Tarrant to the Vow. Exhausted from the magical drain created by the Vow, Tarrant slumped down in one of the chairs that were crowded around the tiny kitchen table. "You're a good man, Hooper."

"What is it you need, Moody?" Tarrant asked tiredly. He wanted to crawl back into bed, but the tea-making Auror would make that impossible for him tonight.

"I need documents," he said, lighting the burner under the kettle. Tarrant bolted upright in his seat.

"What?" He demanded, staring at the Auror incredulously. "You want me to _forge_ documents for you? Are you completely mental!"

"Not forge," Moody shook his head. Tarrant eyed him suspiciously. "You remember Charlotte?" He asked after a minute.

"Charlotte?" Of course he remembered her. Her temper had been just as bad, if not worse, than her brothers. "They found her?"

"Dead."

"Merlin, Alastor, I'm—"

"She had a girl," he said, cutting off any platitudes or offerings of sympathy the other man was about to give. "15-years-old now. No papers, Charlotte hid her."

"Merlin," Hooper swore again, scrubbing a hand over his face. "She'll need everything then?"

"Yes."

"And there's a reason you're not going through the official channels for this? I know you're a paranoid son-of-a-bitch, Moody, but this seems a little excessive."

"I've got people out to get me, Hooper. Both outside of and within the Ministry. The quieter this is, the better for everyone involved, especially Hermione."

"That her name?"

"Yes."

"Where's she now?"

"Hogwarts. Dumbledore's watching her for now. She can't attend classes till she has an identity, Hooper, and Dumbledore can't keep a school-age girl in the castle without having her in classes. People will start to get suspicious, draw unwanted attention."

"I still say you're a paranoid son-of-a-bitch."

"Who doesn't?" Moody shrugged. "Thank you," he added. The words weren't forced, but oddly sincere, and it unnerved Tarrant to no end. Alastor Moody did not give anyone a heartfelt thanks for anything.

"Well, it's not like you gave me much of a choice," Tarrant joked.

"You could have chosen _not_ to take the Vow," Moody snorted.

"And have you hex me from here to Styx?" Tarrant scoffed. "I'll take my chances with the Ministry, thanks. So?"

"So what?"

"I'm going to need information about the girl to give her documents," Tarrant pointed out. The kettle whistled loudly, Moody spun around, wand drawn. "Bloody hell, man, it's the water! Not a Dark Wizard!"

"Reflex," Moody bit out.

"Merlin help the girl when she spends the hols with you," Tarrant snorted. "Now—" he summed a piece of parchment and a Muggle pen. They were easier to write with than quills, in his opinion. It was one of the stranger quirks his coworkers teased him almost mercilessly about, but since this wasn't an official document (and he would probably be burning it later) he didn't see the harm. "Name?"

"I just told it to you, didn't I?"

"Full name. For the birth certificate."

"Hermione Isadora Moody."

"Charlotte gave her your mum's name? After everything that happened?"

"Family tradition," he shrugged. "What else?"

"Birthdate?" Moody paused in his tea making, looking deep in thought.

"May 5th, 1961."

"Parents?"

"You know her mother."

"Who's the father?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"Hermione doesn't know?"

"No."

"Shame," Tarrant shook his head. "Good thing she's got you, eh?" Moody grunted and sat down at the table across from him. Tarrant eyed the cup, but decided against asking his guest to pour him one. He didn't need the caffeine that late anyway. "Alright, where was she born?"

"Don't know."

"You don't know? Where'd you find her?"

"Wales. Make something up."

"Lie? On a birth certificate?"

"It's not like it matters much. I doubt Charlotte had her in a hospital anyway."

"Good point," he conceded. "Hair?"

"Brown."

"Really? Must've gotten it from her father then. Eyes?"

"Brown."

"Alright, that's all I need for her birth certificate. For the guardianship papers, I'm going to need Charlotte's death certificate."

"Doesn't have one yet. Died about a month ago. Put the first down." Tarrant looked at him oddly. Moody was usually a stickler for details. He quadruple checked everything and tested everything that came into his path for forgery, curses, and misinformation. He didn't think he hated his sister so much to be this nonchalant about her death.

"Did you at least give her a proper burial?" If looks could kill, Tarrant would have been six feet under in an instant. The glare the Auror pinned him with was downright murderous. "Sorry," he apologized quickly. "Wand?"

"Doesn't have one yet."

"You'll need to get her one and have it registered as soon as possible," Tarrant said absently.

"I'm well aware of that, thank you," he snapped. "Anything else you nee to know?"

"No, that's it."

"Good. Hand deliver me those papers when you're done with them," he ordered, rising from his seat. "I'll be in the office until 10 this morning." Tarrant gaped at him in disbelief. "What?"

"You expect me to have all of this done by 10?" Moody glanced over at the clock.

"It's only 2:30. That gives you 8 and a half hours, if I'm not mistaken." He stalked out of the kitchen. Tarrant heard him call for the Ministry Atrium, followed by the telltale _whoosh_ of the floo. Groaning, he reached across the table and grabbed the half-empty mug. Caffeine didn't seem like such a bad idea anymore.

* * *

><p>"How is it you got here before us?" Regulus asked, sliding into his customary seat beside Kalare. The rest of the table ignored them for the most part, especially when Severus arrived. They had their own secluded seats at the very end near the doors, where no one would bother them.<p>

"I have my ways," she smirked, passing him a plate of eggs and sausage. "Besides, I don't take nearly as long to get ready as you or Severus. For boys, you sure act like a bunch of girls."

"We do not," he grumbled.

"You do—" she trailed off, eyes taking on a glazed over look, lips parting slightly. Regulus cast a quick silencing charm that Severus had modified and glanced around the table, making sure no one was looking. He didn't know why he bothered, even the first years left them alone. Kalare had a reputation for being a bit of an oddball, Severus was avoided at all cost, and no one paid him any attention when he was with them.

"Kalare?" He prompted, watching her worriedly. It had happened a handful of times since their First year. Her eyes would become unfocused and she'd stare off into space, and then everything would go back to normal.

Unless she saw something particularly bad, but that usually only happened when she was sleeping.

Her breath caught, her eyes refocused and she slumped down in her seat. Regulus barely had time to catch her before she toppled over backwards.

"Kalare!" He all but shouted, lightly slapping her face. Her eyes fluttered open for the briefest of seconds and then slipped shut again. The _muffilato_ was cancelled and Severus slipped into the empty seat next to the almost unconscious girl. "We need to get her to the infirmary," Regulus said quietly.

"What happened?" The older wizard demanded.

"One minute she was fine and the next—"

"No infirmary—" Kalare rasped. "Not yet—" Her eyes were hooded, face a horrible ash color.

"No," Regulus shook his head. "I'm taking you there _now_. You should have gone last night," he hissed.

"What happened last night?" Severus demanded.

"She had another nightmare."

"I knew it! Why didn't you say anything?"

"I'm fine!" She protested. "I'm fine, it's—" A bright white light shot through doors and soared up to the Head Table where it stopped in front of Dumbledore who had already risen from his seat, along with the entire staff.

"What is that?" Regulus asked. The light had taken the form of a bear and was standing on its hind legs.

"Patronus," Severus said shortly. The bear opened its mouth in a wide, yawn like movement.

"_Infirmary now!" _ Madame Pomfrey's voice barked. It echoed through the Great Hall with a force that metaphorically knocked them all backwards. Dumbledore disappeared in a swirl of colorful robes through the teacher's door, the patronus trailing after him. The Great Hall broke into an uproar of gossip and idle speculation. Regulus looked down at Kalare, slack jawed.

"What did you see?" He hissed.

"What makes you think she saw something?"

"_Silence_!" McGonagall's amplified voice cried. She was the only professor standing now, one hand braced on the table, the other holding her wand to her throat. "_You will finish your breakfast and go about your morning schedules as normal! Am I understood_?" She gave them all one long glare and ended the amplifying charm. Satisfied that they would all stay silent, she made a quick retreat out the teacher's door, nodding to Flitwick on her way out. The diminutive professor craned his neck to observe the student body.

"I don't like this," Regulus said, shifting uneasily in his spot next to Kalare.

"If Kalare is in some sort of distress, we really should take her to the infirmary," Severus mused. "It would be the responsible thing to do." Comprehension dawned on the 6th Year.

"True," Regulus nodded. "We can't very well let her pass out in the hallway, can we?"

"No," Kalare weakly protested.

"You don't have much of a choice," he frowned. "Help me get her up, Severus."

"This isn't how it's supposed to happen!" Kalare whimpered, clutching Regulus' robes tightly.

"You don't have much of a choice," Severus said, pressing the tip of his wand into her side. He muttered something under his breath and she went limp against Regulus. The younger Slytherin shot him a mildly disapproving look.

"She's going to kill you, you know."

"She'll have to get in line," he snorted. "Come on, let's get out of here before anyone notices."

"What'd you do to her?" Regulus huffed, trying to hoist Kalare up from the table. He managed to wiggle out of his seat and half-drag her along with him. Severus grabbed her legs and followed suit.

"Variation on a stunner."

"How big of a variation?" Between the two of them, they managed to stretch her out on the floor. "Well?" He prompted, looking at the older Slytherin.

"Well what?" He asked, still staring at Kalare's stunned form.

"Are you going to levitate her or what?" Regulus quietly asked.

"Why am I the one who has to do it?"

"Because _you're_ the one who stunned her!" Regulus hissed.

"Exactly! So _you_ should be the one to levitate her to the infirmary! She's _your_ friend!"

"Oh, don't pretend like she isn't yours," Regulus rolled his eyes. "No man is an island, Severus."

"Taking counsel advice from the Headmaster?" He asked, arching an eyebrow. "Just levitate her already!"

"You've got the steadier hand!"

"Well how will you learn if you never practice?" He shot back.

"Is she ok?" Annalisa Deveraux, a tiny second year, was half-standing in her seat, peering over the table at the unconscious girl on the floor.

"Hopefully," Regulus said, drawing his wand. "_Mobilicorpous!" _Kalare's body rose three feet from the ground and he steered her towards the doors, paying great attention to corners, walls, and other obstructions.

"What happened?" Annalisa asked. Half the table was staring now, watching Regulus shakily move her out of the Great Hall.

"I'd stay away from the Pumpkin Juice," Severus said, turning to leave. The alarmed shrieks of Annalisa and the other second years with her echoed behind him. He smirked. It would keep the Slytherins and the staff busy enough to give them a decent head start to the infirmary.

The rest of their trip was uneventful in comparison. Regulus managed to steer Kalare to the infirmary without running her into any walls, much to his relief. He almost dropped her, however, when Severus reached out and grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop short.

"Merlin's saggy—"

"_Shhh_!" He hissed, shooting him a dirty look. Regulus nodded slowly. Severus drew his wand and pointed it at Kalare, muttering an incantation under his breath. Her chest rose up and she took in a huge gulp of air as she struggled to try and sit up. Regulus set her on the ground, canceling the levitation charm. Her eyes were half-closed and she looked around groggily. "Ten minutes," Severus said, grabbing one of her arms.

"What?"

"We have ten minutes before she regains her facilities and attempts to murder me, let's _go_ before we lose our window of opportunity!" Regulus grabbed Kalare's other arm and they lifted her up off the floor.

"You have too much free time on your hands," he said quietly. Together, they ushered her into infirmary. A large white divider was set up around one of the cots, the shadowy figures of what they assumed were the professors and the mediwitch.

"—_salve from St. Mungo's—"_ they heard Pomfrey say.

"_Albus, surely there's some way to tell—"_

"_Poppy, please see to the students waiting outside_," Dumbledore instructed. The two boys exchanged a look.

"_How does he do that_?" Regulus mouthed. The mediwitch appeared from around the partition, the front of her robes covered in blood.

"Merlin," Regulus breathed.

"What happened?" She demanded, moving towards them with quick, jerky movements.

"She fainted at breakfast," Severus lied smoothly. He and Regulus moved her to the cot Madame Pomfrey motioned to and watched her cast a series of diagnostic charms. Kalare blinked up at her confusedly.

"Madame Pomfrey?" She croaked.

"You're in the infirmary, dear," the mediwitch said soothingly. "Do you remember what happened before this?"

"I—breakfast—curse—bear—blood—so much blood," she moaned. Madame Pomfrey looked down at her robes and gasped. She quickly vanished the red stains and summoned a calming draught from her office.

"Mr. Snape, Mr. Black, you may return to the Great Hall," she said. "Miss Malfoy will remain here for observation."

"What's wrong with her?" Regulus asked.

"I'm not sure, her vitals are fine. Were you lightheaded before you fainted, Miss Malfoy?"

"I fainted?"

"Drink this," she ordered, pressing the vial to Kalare's lips. The fifth year obligingly took the draught and settled back against the pillows. "Just rest for a few minutes dear, I'll check on you again in a few minutes." She looked at the two boys. "Great Hall or class," she ordered. The two boys obediently turned and left the infirmary.

"What do we do now?" Regulus asked once they were out of hearing range.

"Well, Madame Pomfrey said we were to return to the Great Hall or class," Severus smirked.

"I don't think she was giving us permission to skip class."

"Then she should have been more specific. Do you still know the password to the Gryffindor common room?"

"Why?" He asked warily. "You're not going to hex their sheets again, are you? That cost us nearly 100 House Points. Besides, some students have a free first period, don't forget. They'll see you."

"Everyone has a second period class this term."

"So you're going to just wait for them all to leave?"

"No, _we're_ going to wait for them all to leave." Regulus stopped short in the hall, staring after the older boy. "It's either that or History of Magic," he called over his shoulder.

"I think I'd rather die a slow and painful death in Binns' class than a torturous and agonizing one if McGonagall catches us."


End file.
